Page 65 of Mexico Can Choke On It
I reluctantly dip into the gelatinous goop. The smell hits me. Is thatsulfur? It’s warm and… slightly salty? I part my lips and let the tiniest blob land on my tongue.
My taste buds stage an immediate revolt.
It’s as if someone liquefied a fart and garnished it with fish food. I not-so-discreetly spit the unholy concoction out, then wipe at my tongue frantically with my napkin, trying to erase the trauma of fermented parrot drool.
I glance at Bryce, who’s sipping the fancy bird barf soup as if it’s delicious. His eyes dare me to say otherwise.
Nuh-uh.I need a distraction from this bowl of sinus gravy and the temporarily insane billionaire beside me.Hana!Maybe I can extract some useful Fiona intel from her bubbly sidekick. Keep your friends close and your enemy’s oversharing bestie closer.
“So, Hana, tell me about you.”
“Oh! Me?” She seems genuinely surprised. “Nobody ever asks. My family owns ChoCorp—the Korean tech giant inside everyone’s phone—but they won’t let me work there. They said my talents were better used elsewhere.”
She says this with the same breezy tone a person might use to mention they prefer chocolate over vanilla.
“They won’t let you work at your family’s company?”
“Of course not, silly! I’m engaged to marry my daddy’s business competitor!” She flashes her left hand, where a diamond the size of a walnut sits. “It’s a strategic alliance thing. Daddy says women are better at mergers through marriages than with board meetings.”
I’m stunned silent by this casually delivered bombshell.
“Fiona is justso luckyto marry someone handsome and under fifty! My fiancé is seventy-five and has this weird breathing thing when he sleeps, but my mother says that’s a plus because I’ll inherit sooner! What about you? Has your family chosen your husband yet?”
“I don’t have to get married. I’ve made my own fortune, selling meth.”
Hana’s eyes go wide before bursting into tinkling laughter. “You aretoofunny!Fiona said you had the most amazing sense of humor!”
Beside me, Bryce clears his throat pointedly, but I stubbornly keep my attention on Hana.
“Aww, look at them,” Hana sighs dreamily. “Gavin actually gives eye contact to Fiona when she talks! That’s like,relationship goals!My fiancé‘s assistant gave me an entire document about which topics I’m not allowed to bring up at dinner. Apparently, his first three wives did not understand the importance of proper conversation filtering!”
“Yeah, I’ve never had much luck with filters. I’m more of a say-what-I-think-and-let-the-jaws-drop kind of girl.”
She giggles. Again. “Oh my God, I love that about you! I can tell we’re going to become best friends this week.”
“Who knows?” I say through gritted teeth.
I glance sideways and catch Fiona…talkingto Muffy as though she’s hosting a podcast with a Maltese.
BWONNNNGGGGGGGG.
Hana gasps and turns toward the sound, attention temporarily hijacked.
Perfect.
With the precision of a spy and the nonchalance of a street magician, I tilt my bowl ever-so-slightly andpourmy untouched congealed bird phlegm soup into hers.
“You’re such a naughty, naughty girl,” Bryce murmurs. “What am I going to do with you?”
“No idea what you mean,” I say, the picture of innocence as I set down my empty bowl. “I made sure to lick up every drop. It was delicious.”
“Such a waste,” he says, his knee brushing mine under the table. “I could’ve shown you how to properly… swallow.”
My thighs clench. My ovaries squeal. My entire pelvic floor stages a rave.
He’s waiting for a response. Somewhere in the control room of my body, my lungs smack the panic button and scream at my brain:HELLO? Suck in some oxygen, bitch! Then speak!
“Sorry,” I say sweetly. “I can’t hear you over the sound of your ego inflating.”
